Love's History

Love, the baby,         Crept abroad to pluck a flower:     One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe;         One said, Wait the hour.     Love, the boy,         Joined the youngsters at their play:     But they gave him little joy,         And he went away.     Love, the youth,         Roamed the country, quiver-laden;     From him fled away in sooth         Many a man and maiden!     Love, the man,         Sought a service all about;     But they called him feeble, one         They could do without.     Love, the aged,         Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles,     Read a volume many-paged,         Full of tears and smiles.     Love, the weary,         Tottered down the shelving road:     At its foot, lo, Night, the starry,         Meeting him from God!     "Love, the holy,"         Sang a music in her dome,     Sang it softly, sang it slowly,         "Love is coming home!"